


a time of wonder

by ivorykeys09



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 19:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17904248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorykeys09/pseuds/ivorykeys09
Summary: Their schedules unfortunately don’t allow for a long trip, and bad weather and doctor’s orders keep them closer than tropical beaches, but they still make it to a city they haven’t been to together before.(Or, one last trip before their daughter arrives.)





	a time of wonder

**Author's Note:**

> This is so fluffy and probably not at all what we're going to get on the show, but the idea wouldn't go away. It's kind of random, but I just wanted a normal, not-dramatic take on this pregnancy storyline.
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
> PS. Apologies for any typos I missed!

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“We should go on a trip, while it’s still just the two of us,” Oliver says as he crawls into bed beside her one night.

Eyes still on her tablet, she asks, “You mean like a babymoon?” then glances over at him.

He looks at her like she’s speaking a different language. One that he is not fluent in. “A baby... _what?_ ”

She laughs and shuts down the programs she’s running, before setting the tablet on her nightstand. “A babymoon. It’s like a honeymoon before the baby comes.”

He shakes his head, still looking mildly confused (and offended) by the term. “Considering we didn’t even go on a honeymoon, I feel like we shouldn’t call it that.”

And yeah. Point taken. “I...actually agree with you there,” she says, now fully on board for not calling it that _and_ definitely doing it. “Let’s go. As long as it’s warm, on a beach, and within a few hours by plane I am _there_.”

.

.

.

Their schedules unfortunately don’t allow for a long trip, and bad weather _and_ doctor’s orders keep them closer than tropical beaches, but they still make it to a city they haven’t been to together before: San Francisco. It’s not the destination they originally had in mind, but there’s beaches (albeit, cold, keep-your-clothes- _on_ beaches), good food, pretty mountains, and a plethora of spas to choose from. (Which she does. Every day, _thank you very much_.)

When it comes down to it, the idea of a weekend away together overshadowed anything else. So here they are.

“This is how I die,” Felicity breathes out, feeling every bit of the pregnancy massage she had yesterday erase from her body’s memory. “Yup. This is it. Death by stairs.”

Oliver just laughs, not looking out of breath at all. “You can do it,” is all he says, smile evident in his voice as he easily jogs up a few more steps. At least he’s carrying the backpack.

She huffs her way up in his wake, and if she wasn’t so tired, she’d spend more time appreciating her husband from behind. Because damn, it’s a good view. But she’s too busy looking down trying not to trip over her own feet, _very_ aware of how terrible her balance is these days. At the start of the ascent, when she’d looked up from the bottom of the wide wood staircase they’re climbing, that weaves around a green, grassy bluff, she’d thought it’d be a breeze. The steps aren’t too tall, so she wouldn’t need to heave her way up each of them like she expected. But—as she realized only fifteen steps in—because they are short, there are a _lot_ of them. So in actuality, it takes even _more_ of an effort to climb them.

“How much longer?” she asks, hoping it doesn’t sound as whiny as it does to her own ears.

Instead of her husband answering, another hiker coming down towards them chimes in. “The lookout point is just around the corner. Not too far,” the woman says empathetically, looking exceptionally fit for someone who looks around sixty-five. “Hang in there.”

Oliver turns around, smiling smugly at her and deftly walking _backwards_ up the windy wood steps. He’s barely breaking a sweat. How is he doing this?

She pauses for a quick moment. “I hate you,” she says, with only, like, 3% malice.

“You love me,” he answers back, giving her a wink.

That she does. So, so much.

She pauses and takes a deep breath—both because she needs it _and_ to reset her attitude—and then starts walking up again, bringing her hand down to smooth over her rounded middle, a practiced habit these days. The lull of the hike has made the baby curled inside her fall asleep, and there’s been a short respite from the kicks and jabs she typically feels throughout the day.

She smiles to herself at the thought. Just a few months ago, when they’d found out she was pregnant—literally the same moment William walked out the door—this little baby had been one giant question mark, in every sense. It had been a rocky start, made rockier by immediate all-day sickness, exhaustion, and every emotion under the sun. (The surprise of it all, the sadness from Will leaving, the worry and unpredictability of their lives paired with an infant…) But thankfully, through all of the uncertainty and anxiety, the maternal instincts she’d read and heard about had naturally arrived in full swing.

It’s been a marvel to experience pregnancy, and she’s wondered in awe how she can learn and know so much about a person she hasn’t even met yet. The tiny girl inside her is quiet in the mornings and active at night. She does _not_ like anything sweet—only salty and spicy—and she must love when her mom works on the computer, because it’s her busiest time of the day. It doesn’t matter where Felicity is—the lair, the loft, or on their couch—but their daughter turns into a wild little thing the second she types on a keyboard. So on this trip, she’s been pretty quiet.

(Felicity ignores the way her fingers itch at the thought of her computer. It’s been over two days since she’s coded anything and it’s been...tough.)

Feeling steady enough to look to her left while climbing another step, she takes in the view around them. San Francisco weather is hit or miss in early summer, and they’d lucked out. The day is really beautiful: the sky is bright blue, with only a few clouds dotted across, and it’s not too windy or cold. The sunshine is warm enough where she’d only needed workout leggings, a long sleeve dri-fit shirt, and a puffy vest. (The amount of athleisure her wardrobe has acquired over the past few months is a little insane. Oliver makes her walk every day. “Healthy mom, healthy baby,” he tells her every time she whines about it, though she loves him all the more for it.)

They’ve had an ocean view the entire trail, and even though Star City is surrounded by water, this invigorates her in a way she hasn’t felt in a while. Almost finished with her second trimester, she’s finally feeling the burst of energy the books had promised she’d feel weeks ago. The lack of regular caffeine is still something she is still getting used to (though she does savor a half-caff once a day, which was thankfully approved by Dr. Schwartz) so she’s a lot more tired than they’re used to her being.

They had both been utterly _gobsmacked_ at the news of her pregnancy—and it had, admittedly, taken some time for both of them to get used to the idea. The first few weeks were a confusing mix of shock and awe, that had only morphed into joy after they heard the heartbeat. Because even though this baby was not planned, at least not _now_ , she is so, so wanted. She is a wish they never knew would be granted, a dream they never knew would be realized, and they refuse to treat her anything but.

The past five months have been a lot. She needed this time away. _They_ needed this time away. And it’s been heavenly so far.

Or, it was until this hike.

“See, babe? You didn’t die,” her husband says, interrupting her thoughts, because—thank god—they made it to the top. “Also, let’s not casually throw around that phrase, ‘I’m going to die.’ Hits too close to home, okay?” He hands her a bottle of water.

She takes it gleefully and swallows a few sips, only pausing to say, “Fair,” before taking a few more.

Their breaths are heavy and quick as they stand upon the flat overlook, atop of the rocky cliff. The landscape of the Golden Gate Bridge is to their right, and to their left is an expanse of ocean as far as they can see. The water is a dark teal hue, calm but also rough in some spots, with white, foamy caps breaking through the surface. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

The wind whips her wavy curls around, and she pulls them up in a messy bun as she takes in the view.

A few benches outline the perimeter, and she happily takes a seat on one of them, patting the spot beside her. But instead of sitting, Oliver places the backpack next to her and props one foot up on the bench, stretching out the muscles in his leg. She rolls her eyes, unzips the backpack and pulls out the bag of grapes they’d grabbed at the farmer’s market on the way here.

She pops one in her mouth and leans back, squinting up at the sun before looking at Oliver. “It’s so pretty here.”

And she must be complaining way more than not, because he looks really happy and relieved. She cringes at herself, vowing to perk up. “I’m glad you like it. I thought you would. The pictures online looked just like this,” he says, looking behind him at the view again.

She eats a few more grapes, grateful for the feeling of hunger and her fully-returned appetite, and looks down at her belly.

Because of how sick she’d been in the beginning, she hadn’t gained weight or really started to show until around week eleven. Oliver had left early one morning, and as she’d gotten into the shower, her mirrored reflection had promptly stopped her in her tracks. The view of her slightly (but undeniably there) rounded stomach had made it all suddenly more real. They were having a baby. There was a _baby_ inside her. The entire rest of the day she hadn’t been able to stop looking down at herself, or unconsciously touching her middle, still getting used to the seemingly-overnight change. And when Oliver had come home that night, she’d made him stop in his tracks too. (She may have also been wearing _only_ lingerie to greet him, but that’s besides the point.) He had appreciated her new body _just_ as much as she, and had proven it thoroughly, all night long.

Since then, she hasn’t stopped growing. And though she still isn’t big by any means, (she’s been told she’s “all belly”), there is no denying to anyone who sees her that a baby will arrive in just over three months.

Feeling warm from the sun and her slowing heart rate, she unzips out of her vest and shoves it into the backpack. Oliver’s eyes immediately run down her form, darkening as they land on her stomach, as he switches to stretch the other leg. “You look cute.” She looks every bit of six months pregnant in her tight shirt and leggings, and it is obvious that he is a fan. He’d already told her so this morning when she changed (and tried to undress her immediately) but she’s not against hearing it again.

“Thanks,” she smiles, reaching out for him and wiggling her fingers. “Come closer. I want to sit here and enjoy this with you.”

He dutifully takes a seat beside her, one arm wrapping around her shoulders to pull her against him. They are a perfect fit, she thinks, feeling him kiss her sweaty hair.

“Thanks for bringing me here. I’m sorry I’ve been such a complainer today.”

He tightens his hold. “That’s okay. You’re allowed to complain a little. You’re growing a baby.”

At the reminder, she twists in her seat, briefly leaning away from him to stretch her sore back, before settling back against his side again. “She’s feeling very heavy today, but I think it has more to do with her dad making me walk two miles uphill, than the delicious food we’ve been eating here.” Today alone she’s already had an early breakfast (to stave off lingering nausea), a big brunch, _and_ an afternoon snack.

He chuckles again—because, really, she’s not _that_ big—and reaches around to lay a hand on the swell of her belly. His palm moves across the rounded expanse, searching for movement.

She rests her hand on top of his, even though she knows they’ll feel nothing. “She’s asleep right now, I think. Quiet time.” Still, they keep their hands joined there, resting on the baby they made together, the baby that has become the happiest surprise, because there’s no reason to let go.

It’s silent for a few minutes, save for the passing conversations of hikers coming and going, as they watch the sun glow and switch to magic hour around them. The light is golden and breathtaking over the water and bridge. Birds dance in harmonious troves above them, while sailboats float by below, far enough away to look like toys.

“Will would love it here,” she says, breaking the quiet.

In her periphery, she sees him look down at her. “He would, wouldn’t he? I was just thinking the same thing.”

“You guys should come here,” she says, tilting her head up to kiss the corner of his jaw. He has three-day-old scruff and she likes it. A lot.

Her eyes light up more at her own idea. “Guys weekend! And then this little lady and I will have a girls weekend.”

It’s hard not to notice his eyes looking a bit misty at that idea—at the new reality of their close-knit unit, just the four of them, even if they all aren’t together at the moment. Even with Will in Central City, no matter what, they’re still a foursome, and they both recognize that wholly. He nods, expanding the thought. “Maybe for spring break or something.”

“Yeah. Or better yet, fall break? During San Francisco summer? You could see the Giants play or something. And go to Ghirardelli Square. And Alcatraz! He’d love th—”

The rest of her words are cut off with a kiss, and though it starts off a little awkward, because of the way they’re sitting side by side, it deepens once she turns fully in her seat to participate. She hums as the kiss slows. “What was that for?” she asks softly, feeling happily woozy.

He looks down at her, and the blue of his eyes rival the sea that surrounds them. (She finds that she prefers this view, without question.) “I love you,” he says simply, pressing his lips to her mouth again. “Thank you for loving me and Will like you do. And baby girl.”

“Oliver,” she breathes out, voice wavering as she rests a hand against his cheek. “You never have to thank me for loving you, honey.” She leans up to press her lips to his again, breath taken both by the kiss and the fact that she is just so wholeheartedly, deeply, deeply in love with this man and the family they’ve created. The one they have and the one to come.

She pecks his lips again and then stands, stretching her back once more until she hears (and feels) a satisfying crack. The sun has lowered some, and she knows they should leave before it gets too dark. “Hey,” she hears him say, making her look back at him. “Turn so I can get a photo of you.”

She blushes. “Really?” she asks, prompting _him_ to blush a little too, because he’s not really the photo-taking type. Neither of them are, actually. Her mother has been _begging_ for weekly bump photos, but both she and Oliver had scoffed at that. They both definitely marvel at her growing stomach—usually in the mornings, when they wake up and read her pregnancy app and daily baby update together—but they haven’t taken a ton of photos. It’s something she wonders if one day she’ll regret not having done, but most of the time, she knows experiencing these nine months with him is enough for her.

“Yeah. I want a photo to remember you here, like this.”

She scrunches her nose fondly, quickly deciding to indulge him. He usually isn’t like this, and it’s really cute. Doting (baby) dad-to-be, her husband, Oliver Queen.

“Okay, how do you want me?” she asks, and the look he gives her back makes heat curl inside her. It’s exactly that look that got them in this situation in the first place. She points at him. “Keep your pants on, mister. And besides, I should have said, how do you want _us_?” she asks, making the point further by placing both hands on her belly and bouncing a little on her feet, waiting for his instruction.

He couldn’t possibly smile wider, and her heart beats wildly. “Turn so I can get your profile,” he requests, gesturing with his hands.

She does as she’s asked, then looks over at him. “Like this?” Not knowing how to pose or what to do with her arms, she just lets them hang at her side.

“Perfect. Now, smile,” he says, snapping a photo. “Okay, now look straight ahead.”

As he takes another picture, she feels their daughter wake up and roll inside her. She smiles, instinctively bringing her hands up to press gently into her skin. It coaxes a few nudges in reaction. Through it all, she knows Oliver is taking more photos, probably loving the serendipitous moment between mom and baby—( _mom!_ she thinks, not knowing if she’ll ever get over it)—and that he caught it all on camera. He must be satisfied with what he’s captured, because he stands up and walks over to join her, hand coming up to rest beside hers. When he feels a kick, he laughs. “Hi, baby,” he just whispers, only for their ears, bringing her back to the first time he’d said it.

(She’d known Oliver as a father, but she hadn’t known Oliver through pregnancy—which, she’s come to learn, are two really different things. She hadn’t expected him to be the type to read books or tell stories and talk to her stomach every night—and he isn’t, which she is kind of grateful for, because that seems a little too... _strange..._ to them?—but he does, every once in a while, whisper little things that makes her heart feel too big for her chest. It’s not every day, which makes it all the more special when he does it. Like the night after their first ultrasound when she, especially, had been a little dazed and quiet at the enormity of it all, he’d just rested his palm on her lower belly, leaned down to kiss her skin, and said, “Hi, baby.” And then he’d done the same thing the night she greeted him in only lingerie, when baby had made itself known, and then again the day they found out baby was actually baby _girl._

Besides those other three important words they say to each other, this is her favorite thing he says.)

She kisses his shoulder. “Now let’s get one of us,” she murmurs into his shirt, feeling him nod in agreement. Even though they could ask another hiker to get a photo, they instead just take a selfie. Just like the one they took in Positano and Bali and Las Vegas and everywhere else they went during that first summer together—but this time it’s better, since it’s the three of them.

The way down the path is much easier, but just as slow. They hold hands the whole way, feeling a little buzzed by love, but also because she’s tired and knows the odds of her tripping have doubled in the past few hours. They stop and chit chat with other families every few minutes, and it reminds them both of their summer in Ivy Town again. Of the constant mingling with other couples and families, conversing about simple things like gardening and crockpots and the weather.

Their life in Star City is normal _enough_ for them, but it’s never until she leaves home does she realize how truly different it actually is. Oliver’s job is stressful and busy, her days are filled with meeting investors and keeping a new company afloat, and villains are still wreaking havoc on their town in some way, shape, or form. Their friends are over-the-moon excited for them, but there’s been too much going on for Baby Queen to infiltrate much of the every day. So to be out of the city and somewhere where they are just a young, expecting couple… it’s fun and refreshing, and she can tell they’re both basking it in. They happily answer questions about the baby, since it’s noticeable to everyone who sets eyes on Felicity. _When are you due?_ _(October.) Is this your first? (First girl, second child.) Have you picked a name? (No, we’re waiting to meet her.)_

She is always attracted to him—literally any form of Oliver is hot—but watching him talk about their baby might be the sexiest version of him yet? So by the time they make it back to the hotel, she is so keyed up and desperate, she barely makes it through the door of their room.

Their clothes are pulled off in seconds, before Oliver has her wrapped in his arms, her belly pressed up as close to his warm skin as possible. His hands smooth down her back in a way that she knows is half foreplay, half _actual_ massage, since pregnancy has not been easy on her spine—especially after that hike he put her through. She deepens the kiss in thanks, raking her fingers a little manically through his hair, already feeling breathless and _beyond_ turned on. The hormones raging through her make her feel like she’s about to combust at any second, but she really wants him to deliciously drag this out. Oliver somehow takes the hint, pulling away from her for a moment to just look down at her. He’s giving her a look of such adoration, she loses her breath again.

Slowly, he walks her backwards towards the bed, carefully laying her down, and tasting every inch of her he can get his mouth on—her swollen lips, flushed cheeks, sweaty neck, full breasts, beating heart, round stomach, smooth thighs. He lays on top of her, arms holding himself up so that his weight is not on her belly, something he is always aware of lately, no matter their position. She misses the days when they barely paid mind to how they rolled around on the bed (or, really, _any_ surface), but she can’t help but feel an almost desperate love for him and his unwavering reverence for the baby inside her. He has made her feel so adored, so wanted, so coveted—in all their days, but especially since he found out she was pregnant. William had brought out a sweeter, gentler side of Oliver Queen, but it’s this baby that has brought it to a whole new level. It is only unveiled in private—just for her, for them—which makes it all the more sacred.

When he pushes inside her, she nearly comes right then at the feeling, but somehow holds on—quite literally, as her fingernails claw at the skin of his back. Always clued in, he breathes out a laugh, pausing for a minute to let her herself calm down. But she barely allows him to stop, since the arousal kindling between them ignites further, and she writhes against him to chase the burn. He is as ravenous as she is, and moves against her in a frenzied mix of slow pulls and hurried thrusts. Her stuttered sighs and moans only fuel him more, and when he sits up a little, changing the angle and pressing even closer, that does it. She gasps out his name as she falls over the edge, riding out the pleasure until he eagerly joins her.

Their breaths are heavy as they come down from the high. He isn’t ready to let go, but his arms shake above her, still recovering, so he shifts more weight to his knees on either side of her. He nuzzles her neck a little, kissing his way up to her mouth again. Their lips tease each other for a few seconds, biting playfully, before he properly captures her mouth again for a heated, somewhat sloppy makeout session. After a while, he rolls to lay down beside her.

“We’ll still do that after she’s born, right?” Felicity wonders aloud, in a state of such maxed-out bliss, she’s barely coherent. They both know she’ll be asleep within sixty seconds.

He pulls the sheet over them. “Definitely. We may be a little more tired, but that hasn’t stopped us before.”

She weakly fist pumps in the air. “Awesome. Cause we’re _really_ good at that.” Kissing her head, he tugs her close, letting her shift until she’s comfortable enough to burrow against him.

She sweeps her hand across his chest, then then down to rest on their daughter. “Love you. Love her. Love us.”

“Me too,” he whispers back, succumbing to the pull of sleep, knowing he’ll dream of her, of baby, of them, of it all.

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.

.

end

 

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? I always appreciate hearing your thoughts! xx
> 
> (FYI, come say hi on tumblr! @ivorykeys09)


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